The Strength of Men
by Gardeners Grow Love
Summary: A different look at the weakness of Men.


_Author's Notes_         

This story was inspired by a discussion initiated by Tinni on the Silmfics yahoo group about the weakness of men.  She felt that Peter Jackson had overplayed the card and that the mortals in the movies were not true to Tolkein's vision or rendering of them.  This is my response to the Weakness of Men.

          Thank you, Nicole, for your advice and your nitpickiness. =)

All comments are greatly appreciated. ^^

The Strength of Men

The master of Imladris sat in his library perusing a volume as thick as his hand was long.  His intent grey eyes skimmed the pages rapidly while one hand circled lazily about the rim of his teacup, absorbing the fading warmth of the cooling blackberry tea. Elrond reclined in the chair with the grace of an elf but minute details of his bearing pointed to his heritage.  The tiniest curve to his back, almost hidden by the folds of his velvet robes, bespoke a mortal tendency to relax.  As an elfling, he had worked hard to conceal the slight imperfection to his posture so that he commanded as much steel in his back as any of his elven kin.  As Lord of an elven stronghold and keeper of one of the Three, he allowed himself the luxury of the lifelong habit but only in the privacy of his own company.  

Sunlight from the late afternoon slowly receded across the page of the volume, first leaving a corner in shadow then gradually abandoning half the expanse of the parchment.  Elrond looked up, taking a moment to pull him from the days of old to the present.  When he did so, the half-elf noted that evening was drawing nigh.  Loath to leave the beloved confines of his library- for it had been some time since he had experienced tranquility as golden as that of this afternoon- the scholar stood up and stretched languidly, then returned the book to its shelf.  He crossed to the middle of the room, closed his eyes and relished the epitome of peace and quiet that was the realm of history and lore inscribed in the humble pages of tomes.  

The ornate doors closed behind Elrond with a soft click as he left the library for his rooms.  Wishing to extend the day's solitude for as long as possible, he took a little-used route by way of the gardens to avoid company, skirting the edge of the flower beds beside a shallow rocky trough that had previously been a small brook.  The gentle buzz of honeybees was all the conversation Elrond wanted in his current state of mind.  He found he needed the seclusion from time to time, to be alone with his thoughts and feelings.  To be away from the questions and noisy chatter of dialogue was bliss.  Even Glorfindel's golden tongue would be a raven's croak compared to the balm of nature's quiet melodies.  

There was a grunt.

Elrond frowned.  Just when did bees grunt?

He cocked a leaf-shaped ear.  The sharpness of elven hearing detected faint sounds of laboured breathing further down the path.  The panting increased in volume the further Elrond proceeded, as did his annoyance.  What elf would be so loud?  He parted the bushes in his path and peered through the branches.  What he saw quickly changed irritation to concern mixed with surprise and confusion.  The elven lord leapt forward, yanking his long velvet sleeves free from the entrapping shrubbery in his haste as he took a large boulder from the shaking arms of the small boy struggling under its burden.

"Estel!  What are you doing?!"  His foster son winced and stumbled slightly before Elrond caught him with a firm hand.  Estel stared at his dust-covered boots, hiding his face behind a mass of grey-tinted curls that were covered in the fine layer of dust that clung to his clothing as well.  The child shook his head, unsettling a shower of dust.  The small shoulders quivered from strain and fatigue under Elrond's hand.  

The protective panic drained from Elrond and with a twinge of guilt, the half-elf knelt beside the child, setting the rock down before he pulled his foster son close.  The boy leaned heavily on Elrond's shoulder, hiding from the searching grey gaze. 

"Estel, I am sorry I yelled.  Ada was only worried about you," he soothed in a soft voice.  The boy nodded but kept his silence and bowed head.  

"Can you tell me what you were trying to do?"  

The once-black curls shook.

"Were you trying to carry the rocks?"  

Nod.

"Why?"  

No response.

"Estel, nin ion, the rocks are too big and heavy for you.  You will hurt yourself.  What if you had dropped one on your foot?  Then you would not be able to run and play for many weeks.  Did you want to build something with the rocks?"  There was a small whisper, so quiet that it eluded Elrond's hearing.

"Why were you carrying rocks, Estel?"  The peredhel leaned closer to the child to better catch his words, feeling the small frame draw a ragged breath.

"Because... because I want to be big and strong," came the tiny reply.

"What do you mean?"  Sensing a long story, Elrond sat down and pulled his foster son into his lap, cradling the exhausted boy.

"I want to be big and strong, like how you and Elladan and Elrohir are."

"But little one, you are still small.  You will become big and strong if you wait patiently and eat your vegetables."  Elrond's grey eyes twinkled.  The boy looked up and wrinkled his nose in disgust, revealing a dirty face smudged with dirt and streaked with sweat.  Using a sleeve stained green by the leaves, the peredhel tenderly rubbed away the grime as Estel spoke.

"But I do not want to wait."

"Everyone has to wait to become strong."

"Did you have to wait too, Ada?"

"Yes, even me."

"How did you know that you would grow to be strong?"

"Everyone does, little one."

"But what if I never become big and strong?"  There was a note of trepidation in the child's voice.

"You will be, Estel.  Someday you will be stronger and bigger than me."

The boy gave the elf lord a strange look.  "But Ada, I am a Man."

"Not quite yet a man, little one, but you will grow into one."

"Then does that not mean I will be weak?"

Elrond knit his eyebrows in a frown.  "What makes you think that, nin ion?"

"Sometimes, I hear some of the other elves say that Men are weak.  If I am going to be a Man, then that means that I will not grow as big and strong as you," Estel explained sadly.  

The weakness of Man.  Elrond sighed in understanding, arms suddenly heavy with the weight of the small child of Man.  Unbidden, Isildur once again stood at the fiery precipice of Oroduin, the light of the flames playing across his face as he smiled and closed his hand around the one Ring and walked away from him.  Grief flickered briefly in the depths of the peredhel's eyes before he drew them close.  It was not only the strength of Isildur that had failed that day.  He had let Isildur walk by, had nothing to stop him though he could easily have over-powered the Man.  

He had been afraid.  

He had felt the power of the Ring, had heard the seductive whispers of infinite knowledge and wisdom it had promised him, and had stepped forward eagerly to claim it from the frail mortal before recognizing the evils of his desires.  It was at that moment that he had felt the weakness of Man in his own soul, the part of him that wondered whether he had deceived his own nature by choosing the fate of the Eldar.  

So he had stood aside and let Isildur take the Ring away from him uncontested.  

"Ada?"  Elrond started from his thoughts. The innocent trusting eyes of Isildur's heir were fixed on him, awaiting an answer.  The peredhel looked into their clear depths, finding it strange that though the questions were posed by the child, he would look to Estel to find answers for his own heart.  Was it truly his weakness that had brought them all here to this day and destiny?  With the sight of wisdom born from long years, Elrond saw the terrible burden placed on the shoulders of one so small, bequeathed to him by the sins of his forefathers.  He saw the fragility of the Secondborn, entwined with the Gift that was the destiny of Man.  Under the shifting layers of the futures and pasts, Elrond found the core of the child's nature.  

And he smiled at what he saw.  The shadows in his own heart retreated from the soft light that emanated from the child's open and trusting soul.

The young boy shifted, slightly unsettled by his foster father's intense scrutiny though he continued to meet the loremaster's grey gaze.  "Ada, I do not want to be weak.  I hope I can be strong someday, even if I am going to be a Man."  

Estel was slightly surprised when Elrond enfolded him in a tight embrace.  "Then you have already overcome the weakness of Man, nin ion, for hope is the greatest strength of all.  Thank you, Estel, for sharing with me your strength."  

~       ~       ~

Late at night, when a certain little boy had been washed, fed, teased by his older brothers and fussed over by the nurse and the great household of Rivendell was asleep, its lord stood alone in pensive silence amid the silver-edged leaves of the garden.  By the guiding light of the Silmaril bound to his father's brow, Elrond thought of the future and his heart was lighter than it had been.  

There was Hope.


End file.
